


What Makes a Home

by inkstainedwretch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/inkstainedwretch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas have Christmas dinner in their new house. Domestic fluff with a bit of spice. Guest starring Sam and Gabriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes a Home

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2012 [Destiel Advent Calendar](http://destieladventcalendar.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

“Dean, I think the house is infested.”

These days, Dean is never sure whether to be freaked out when Castiel says something like that in his typical calm tone of voice, because when he looks up to where Cas is staring, he expects to see anything from a stray moth to a writhing hell beast. As it turns out, he doesn’t see either, but rather a small cluster of waxy green leaves with white berries interspersed between them.

“Cas, that’s just mistletoe. Gabriel probably stuck it up there last time he came over.” It would definitely explain why it had somehow grown out of the wood paneling above the doorframe. Dean makes a mental note to get rid of it if it keeps growing.

“I know,” Castiel turns to look at him like he’s explaining one of the simplest concepts on the planet, and he’s very confused as to why Dean doesn’t understand. “It’s a parasite, and highly poisonous if ingested. We should remove it before it damages the house’s infrastructure.”

“…Cas, have you seriously never heard of mistletoe decorations?”

The look Dean gets in response is more than enough of an answer.

“It’s one of those weird traditions that don’t make any sense,” he shrugs, “like Christmas trees, and stockings, and all that stuff.” He makes a vague sort of motion towards the living room, where the tree is decked to the very inch with ornaments and tinsel and lights (Cas had a lot of fun with that particular tradition), and their stockings are hanging up, waiting to be filled with candy. …or maybe coal. Being friends with Gabriel is an adventure.

“Why on earth would you hanging a small, poisonous plant above the door? That can’t be safe.”

“It’s—” Dean cuts himself off and feels his eyebrows pinch together almost on reflex. God, he’s turning into Sam. “Nobody really knows why. Point is, you’re supposed to kiss the person you meet under the mistletoe. I’m pretty sure Gabriel put it up there so he could screw with us when he comes over for dinner.”

Cas stands there pondering this new information for a minute before turning to look at Dean. And look at him. …and look at him. Dean is well used to Castiel staring at him by now, but this is just weird.

“Well?” Cas finally says, and now Dean’s even more confused.

“Well, what?”

“Is this a tradition you choose not to observe?”

And  _that’s_  when it hits Dean that he’s been standing under the Mistletoe with Cas for like, five freakin’ minutes now, and he hasn’t even done anything. He really needs to step up his game.

Instead of responding to Cas’s question and making himself look like even more of an idiot, he reaches over and slips a hand over his angel’s shoulder, leaning forward enough to kiss him softly. Nothing huge, since he doesn’t want to give Cas the wrong idea about mistletoe, but enough.

He leans back and grins at Cas, who looks thoughtful for a second before he smiles back.

“I think I like this tradition.”

 —-

It’s not exactly their first Christmas together, but it’s the first one they’ve had where they haven’t been preventing apocalypses and running from crappy hotel to crappy hotel and giving each other weird gas station presents. It’s also the first one they’ve had in the new house, in whatever way the term ‘new’ applies to the place.

Well, it probably does, in some way. The devil’s traps by every door and window are new, and so is the newly refurbished basement with its almost-complete iron siding, but those are emergency precautions. Dean doesn’t really consider them part of the house, but more like things that have to be added to it. Necessary evils.

Then again, when he thinks of the house, he doesn’t think of walls and hallways. What he really thinks of is Cas with an ancient cookbook on the counter, flour on his sleeves, the smell of cookies and pie and bowtie pasta and, on a really special occasion, chicken parmesan. He thinks of Sam knocking his head on the storage closet door frame and lounging on the sofa with his laptop on his knees. Weirdly enough, sometimes he thinks of Gabriel popping in out of nowhere with a bottle of expensive wine and a fondue pot as ‘housewarming gifts’, even though they used that fondue pot maybe once, and it’s been collecting dust in the cabinet ever since.

But since it’s their first Christmas in the new house, he decided to actually do the whole Christmas thing, with actual gifts and decorations and really amazing food and everything. He’s a little more excited about the amazing food than anything else, but the living room looks a little warmer with all the red and green and gold, and the string of lights hanging on the curtain rod above the living room window looks pretty cool when night falls. The snow on the windowsill reflects all of the colors like a super-deluxe sno-cone, and in a weird way, it looks nice next to the blankets constantly draped over the sofa, even though said blankets are about sixteen different kinds of plaid.

The only downside is Cas won’t let him in the kitchen after he successfully eats about a third of the chocolate chips that were supposed to go in the cookies. He’s exiled to the couch until everything has been in the oven long enough to be too hot for him to eat, and by then he’s way too comfy to even bother. They chose damn well when they got this couch, or as Sam refers to it, “the butt-trap”. They got it secondhand so it’s had all the starch worked out of it, but it’s still got enough stuffing left in it to be comfortable.

Cas comes in with flour on his sleeves and something that looks like it might have once been a cranberry or three on his shirt, and he flops down onto the sofa next to Dean with a rather ungraceful  _flump_. Dean wraps an arm around his shoulder almost on reflex, and Cas leans against him and does that thing where he nuzzles his head into the crook of Dean’s neck.

 “You know, I don’t think you ever officially invited them over,” Dean chuckles. “You could’ve just made enough for the two of us.”

He feels Cas shake his head a little. “They would’ve come over, anyway. I didn’t have to actually say it for them to know they were welcome.”

Dean ruffles his hair and gives his forehead a kiss. He’ll let Cas sleep in late tomorrow and make them both breakfast, and not just so he can sneak a couple of cookies from the batch.

 —-

Gabriel presses the doorbell eleven times. The chime’s pitch changes after the first seven in a way that sounds distinctly like “jingle bells”, and even though Dean complains every time Gabriel uses his “freaky trickster mojo” on his house, he has to admit that was pretty cool.

He opens the door and is greeted with the sight of Gabriel holding the biggest brick of chocolate he’s ever seen in his life, and he realizes that he might have gotten them that fondue pot just so he could use it whenever he came over. At least he didn’t give them a chocolate fountain.

 “Nice fire hazard there, Deano.” Gabriel claps him on the arm and heads straight for the kitchen, pointing at the Christmas tree which has somehow magically moved six inches further away from the fireplace. Dean rolls his eyes.

“There isn’t even a fire going, wiseass.” Dean’s about to shut the door when he realizes Sam is standing there, now, taking up his usual hundred and fifty percent of the doorway. He’s got a bit of snow in his hair, and in the very small space that isn’t occupied by Sam, Dean can see his car parked in the driveway next to the Impala.  He sort of just stares at him for a moment.

“…well, that was fast. What, were you tailing the archangel?”

“I wish,” Sam huffs with laughter. “He decided to randomly pop into my passenger seat ten minutes before I got here and give me a heart attack. Then, once we got halfway up the driveway, he said something about ‘understanding what Cas meant about cars’ and mojo-ed himself onto the porch.”

Dean has to laugh at that, because it’s just so thoroughly  _Gabriel_ , and then he pulls Sam into a hug, because even though it’s been less than three weeks since they last saw each other, he’s missed his brother like hell.

There’s a clatter from the kitchen and the sound of someone being smacked with a wooden spoon, and they both turn around just in time to see the archangel Gabriel stumble into the living room, rubbing a vaguely spoon-shaped mark on his hand.

They almost fall over laughing.

 —-

Dean has to concede at some point that chocolate fondue is pretty damn good when you dip pretzels in it. Gabriel still eats most of it, but he’s considerate enough to leave the best slices of pie for Dean. Cas, deciding that serving a whole turkey seemed a bit gruesome, instead made a fucking amazing pot roast that was big enough for Sam to eat half and still leave enough for Dean and Cas.

By the time they’re done, the only one of them who has enough energy to not be sacked out on the couch is Gabriel, but he’s content to put his feet up in the extra-poofy recliner he materialized into their living room as a surprise Christmas present. He also starts a fire in the fireplace the instant Dean thinks it’s getting a little chilly, and he would’ve called him out on doing something nice if it weren’t for the fact that the recliner is closer to the warmth than the sofa. Dean wonders if he’ll ever give them a gift not intended mostly for himself. Probably not; he’s got a reputation to uphold.

Sam looks up at one point and sees the mistletoe growing out of the doorframe, and he’s just punchy enough to laugh instead of rolling his eyes and sighing heavily.

“Really?” He takes another swig of beer and shakes his head. “C’mon, Gabe, that’s like, seventh grade. I mean, making it actually grow out of the woodwork is impressive, but I already know that’s not the best you can do.”

“It was very thoughtful of you,” Cas gives Gabriel his most obviously fake innocent look. “Dean and I have enjoyed your gift very much.”

“Oh, come on!” Gabriel throws his hands up. “Leave it up to you two to turn my best attempts at facilitating awkwardness—which, let me say, you’re already pros at—into something romantic.” There’s just enough sparkle in his eyes to tell them he’s not serious. Dean sort of figured. If he’d honestly been trying to make things more awkward for the two of them, he would’ve just asked Dean to explain the latest season of Dr. Sexy over dinner. Again. Cas likes television, but Dean’s pretty sure he’ll never quite understand the more intricate plot lines of Dr. Sexy, MD.

“Yeah, well, at least now I know to duck walking out of here,” Sam chuckles. “I’m more than willing to bet you made that thing grow just enough to get berries in my hair.”

“I must be getting old,” Gabriel takes a drink of his cider and gives them his best shit-eating grin. “If you bozos have started to figure me out, I’m clearly losing my touch.”

Sam takes one of the smaller couch cushions and throws it at him. Gabriel flicks his finger and it bounces off of nothing and comes sailing back over to land right on his face. Dean takes one look at his expression when the pillow lands in his lap and cracks up. After a minute, so does Sam, and then Cas. Gabriel’s been snickering pretty much since Sam threw the thing, but eventually he dissolves into laughter with the rest of them.

The fire crackles away.

 —-

Sam eventually heads upstairs and collapses in the guest room. (It’s really his room, but he doesn’t like to call it that.) Dean makes sure he’s managed to get under the covers enough so he won’t freeze, but judging by the sound of his snoring, it probably won’t bother him if he does. Gabriel vanishes with that familiar fluttering sound to go commit some act of mischief somewhere or another. The fire still blazes for another hour or so until it finally starts to fade.

Dean and Cas stay curled up on the sofa, quiet and comfortable. They don’t really need to talk, not when Cas has shifted closer so they’re wrapped in the same blanket, and Dean can feel the stitches of Cas’s sweater against his skin, rough and warm, like the gentle scrape of his chin against his shoulder.

After a while, Cas curls his legs up under the blanket, and then Dean does the same, and they recline a little more until Dean’s head rests against the arm of the sofa and Cas is lying on top of him. They kick their feet together a little for no reason at all, and Cas makes a very determined effort to get Dean’s sock off, and then evidently he gives up and instead looks up at Dean with a smile that could light up the world.

Dean moves just that little bit closer and kisses him, touching their foreheads together and feeling happier than he’s ever been.

“Don’t you ever change.”

Cas slides more fully onto him and brings his hands up to either side of his face.

“I love you too, Dean.”

He kisses him with purpose, now, sweet and slow as syrup, moving so his legs are on either side of Dean, pressing just enough to make sure he feels it. Dean hums softly against his lips and slides a hand down his back, then up again, once it’s underneath all the layers of fabric and touching smooth, warm skin. Cas shivers above him.

“Dean.” He says his name like a prayer, like some sacred word that holds such profound meaning that he can’t possibly explain it in any human tongue. He moves his hand down to unbutton Dean’s shirt, pressing a hungry kiss to the areas he uncovers. “ _Dean._ ”

“Fuck—“ Dean’s back curves up off the sofa when Cas laves his tongue right over the symbols he carved to keep him safe, right over his heart.  He suddenly becomes a good deal less patient and hauls Cas up so he can pull his sweater right off of him, tossing it behind them both. Castiel’s skin is warm and honey-gold in the fading light of the fireplace, and a wave of raw emotion crashes over Dean. He wraps his arms around his angel and just  _worships_  him, sitting up enough to reach and kissing every inch of skin he can find. He can feel Cas’s chest shake under his mouth. He’s caught him off-guard. Dean can’t imagine why he didn’t expect this; to him, it seems like the only logical thing to do when he has Cas half naked and on top of him.

Cas puts both hands on his shoulders and pulls him back just a little, and between the two of them, they get Dean’s jacket and shirt off. They fall back down onto the couch, and Cas presses their hips together a little more insistently. Dean’s maddeningly hard, his jeans are beyond uncomfortable, and the slow press of Cas’s thigh is almost too much. His hands scramble down and yank the waistband of Castiel’s pants down, and then his brain says something like  _wrong order_ , but he ignores it. It takes him a second or two longer to get his jeans undone enough to pull his underwear down, but when his erection meets the open air, he can’t help but gasp.

Cas looks at him with a blazing sort of intensity in his eyes, and then he reaches down to take Dean’s cock in his hand, stroking far too slowly. Dean rolls his head back and hisses, and he’s about to say something when he feels Cas move again, and then he feels Cas’s erection against his own, and whatever he was about to say goes straight out the window.

He gets a hand in Cas’s hair and kisses him deeply, bites his bottom lip as he draws back, moves back in again and moans into his mouth. Cas begins to move his hips as well as his hand, and Dean has to pull back and remember to breathe. His other hand moves down to Cas’s hip, gripping him tightly so he can feel him move, so he can move with him.

“Oh, yes,” he whispers, moving his mouth down to the crook of Cas’s neck, kissing then licking then biting then biting again. His breath turns rough and uneven, and his nails dig into Castiel’s skin. “Fuck, yes,  _Cas_ —” He comes with a shout, hips jerking violently and hand tugging at Cas’s hair. He opens his eyes to see Cas looking at him with a helpless sort of adoration, and on the ceiling he can see the faintest outline of wings, and a loud, humming sound fills his ears for a moment—

**KRACK-KRRR—ACK-KRACK**

Suddenly, the room is silent and much, much darker. Cas collapses on top of him, and Dean turns his head around, wondering where the smell of smoke is coming from. He catches sight of the string of lights above the window, now popped like a string of firecrackers. The tree seems to be intact, but the more rational part of his brain thinks that’s because they’ve probably just blown a fuse. The windows, thankfully, are intact. He really doesn’t know whether to laugh or give himself the biggest high-five in the history of the universe.

Cas takes several deep breaths and then hauls himself up, again, and Dean can only sort of see the expression on his face, but he’s got a pretty good mental image of the little creases in his forehead, the little bit of shame in his eyes.

He puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder and grins like a fool. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

 —-

It’s a bit of a challenge to get off the couch, find the rest of their clothes, and then make it back upstairs to their room, but Dean makes it alright with the help of Cas and his infinitely better eyesight. (Sometimes, Dean wonders if Cas was around before the whole “let there be light” thing, but he’s never asked.)

They pass by Sam’s room, and Dean wonders why the exploding lights didn’t at least wake him up, but before he can even ask, Cas explains that he pulled some soundproofing mojo on his room, “because I had anticipated something like…that might happen”. That does absolute  _wonders_  for Dean’s ego.

They shower, put on the warmest pajamas they can find, and Dean falls asleep with Cas beside him, smiling like he has an embarrassment of riches.

“D’you seriously stay awake and watch me all night?” Dean’s voice is muffled a bit, since he’s talking half into the pillow and half to Cas.

“Every night,” Cas leans over and presses a soft kiss into Dean’s hair. “And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Dean sighs contentedly and drifts slowly to sleep. He dreams about home.


End file.
